One out of Three Isn't Bad

by “Brad Gillespie”

This is a true story, which took place many years ago, around 1970. I recently posted a story called "William" to the gay/interracial section (It was also put into the gay/encounters section by the archivist). The events described in this one happened a few years later. Since the events described include some activities that are considered illegal, I’m disguising the participants a little more, by giving just the initials of their first names, unlike the case in “William,” where his whole first name is given.

I had posted an earlier version of this material (not to Nifty, but to another forum) under the name “L and Me” around 12 to 15 years ago, but I have not succeeded in finding it on the Internet. So I’m trying to reconstruct it, but if there are any discrepancies with that story (assuming someone else actually has a copy and can compare it), chalk it up to the fact that I’m trying to remember events that happened over 40 years ago.

Part 1 — Setting the scene.

I had gotten my doctoral degree and left that university; I had not gotten a permanent job, so I had taken a position as a postdoctoral fellow at a university much further north, much closer to the city I came from. I normally spent the weekends in my mother’s apartment, took a commuter train to the university where I was postdoc’ing on Monday mornings, spent the week in that city, and on Friday nights returned to my mom’s place. For the days when I was at the university, I’d rented a small apartment — really a single room with a bathroom — and I stayed there four nights a week. (Actually, I’d rented different places in different years.) At the time the events described in this story took place, I was in a small, four-unit apartment house on a dead-end street; I’ve checked the Google satellite photos and the building still exists. Each apartment had a separate entrance, the two downstairs apartments (of which mine was one) had doors opening directly on the street, and there were stairways on the outside of the building to the other two apartments, with an area underneath them that formed a little room. These under-stairway rooms had doors from the outside that opened into them, but I don’t think they were used for any purpose, except that one of them figures in the story, so you need to know about them.

Most of the other houses on the block were one-family houses, with families, and there were many kids in those families. I found myself attracted to three really cute boys, all about 11 years old, who often played together, though I was friendly to others on that block as well. These three will be referred to as D, E, and L — which are really their initials, but I will not give any more of their names. They all looked very different, but I thought all three were rather cute.

D had, what I thought unusual for those days of about 1970, a rather short crew-cut hair style. The style in those days was longer, but I grew up in the 1950s wearing crew-cuts, so D’s crew-cut looked good to me. He was less gregarious than the other two, but always friendly; I got the feeling that his home was relatively strictly disciplined (but maybe that was just because of the crew-cut and the fact that his parents were recent immigrants from Eastern Europe, while the other boys were multiple generations in this country). He lived across the street and a few doors down towards the dead end. As his voice was deeper than the others’, he may have been a bit older, but since these changes don’t always occur at the same time in all boys, I can’t be sure. Certainly, he was close enough in ages to the next two boys I will describe that they all formed a regular play group.

E lived next door to me. His family's last name was the same name as that of a then-active pitcher on a Major League baseball team that played in my home town, and E’s older sister was nicknamed with that pitcher’s first name — I never knew what her real name was, and the nickname seemed rather incongruous for a late-teen-age girl, but everyone called her that. E was a bit overweight (his sister was downright skinny), but I still thought him cute; however, it was clear that whatever interest in sex he had was heterosexual. (He used to stash some porno mags, which I didn’t know how he could get hold of, at my place. And he would talk to me about sex, but always in the context of male/female. He even tried to set me up with his older sister, but that didn’t work out. As I mentioned in the “William” story, I’m thoroughly bisexual, so I didn’t discourage E, but if the truth be told, E’s sister wasn’t very attractive to me, though I probably would not have refused her if she made a proposition.)

L was in fact the cutest of the three, the only blond in the bunch, with a bright smile that really turned me on. At an age well before I ever had dated, he had a girlfriend, and sometimes E and L would visit my place together, and on these occasions both boys gave the impression of being totally heterosexually inclined — at an age when many boys might still not have gotten interested in girls, yet! So the events I will describe came as a total surprise when they began.

It was really a strange thing that, among all the kids on the block, there were mostly boys; you’d expect about an equal number of boys and girls. But I remember only two girls and many more boys: one of the girls was E’s older sister, about whom I’ve already written, and the other was the daughter of a family who lived next door (on the other side of me from where E and his sister lived). This girl, A, was a pre-teen and quite pretty. She actually seemed to be coming on to me at times, but in those days it was easier to be seen with boys (because the assumption among most people was that nothing sexual would be going on!) than with girls, and on top of that, A’s older brother seemed to be someome who was acting protective. A’s older brother was big — really, he was rather fat, but big enough that I didn’t want to get into a situation where I might have to fight him. So I was friendly with A, certainly not hostile, but rather detached, which, oddly, might have led her to think I was “queer” (That was the word then; people hadn’t yet adopted “gay.”), but I could not figure any way to get closer to A, and mostly concentrated on the boys.

Part 2 — Hands only.

One day, I was watching L and some of the other boys playing in the street; since it was a dead-end street, there was almost no traffic, so they often played in the street. I don’t recall whether D or E was in the group; they might have been, but for the purposes of this story, it does not matter. The group broke up, and L came over to me and asked me to follow him. He led me to one of those under-stairway rooms I’d mentioned, and when we got there, he closed the door, unzipped me, and started feeling my penis! (How he’d figured I’d be receptive, I don’t know. He was Catholic, and what I’ve heard of Catholic priests of that era may mean his first exposure to man/boy sex was from a priest, but that still doesn’t explain how he’d decided I was an appropriate “target.”) Naturally, I reciprocated. As I said, I thought L was marvelously cute, and I couldn’t resist his attentions.

On subsequent occasions, L visited me in my apartment. When he was accompanied by E, he was totally hetero in his behavior. But if he and I were alone, there was always a reprise of that occurrence with each of us playing with the other one’s penis. It stayed at this level for a while, but eventually L upped the ante. He asked me to suck him.

Part 3 — Going further.

At first I was reluctant. But having seen L’s small, hairless penis, I figured he could not ejaculate, which was really the thing I wanted to avoid. (In so many stories that I’ve read, on Nifty and elsewhere, one man or boy loves taking another one’s “cum” in his mouth. I never liked that, myself.) So I gave in to his requests after a few days of his pleading. He never sucked me; I didn’t want to subject him to having me ejaculate in his mouth, he never asked to, and I don’t know whether he could have gotten my penis in his mouth anyway. (I don’t have the monster of a penis you read about in these stories; it’s about 6ʺ and only moderately thick, but after all, we’re talking about a kid about 11 years old, whose mouth is going to be small!) Besides, I got plenty of pleasure from his manual stimulation.

Apparently, he’d heard that when a guy gets sucked, he releases something, so on one occasion he urinated in my mouth, the only stuff he could produce at his age. This did not please me. I made it clear that if he ever did that again, I would never suck him any more. Apparently he liked being sucked and took my threat seriously; he never did that again.

Several times, L asked me if what we were doing meant he was “queer.” I told him that as long as he liked girls, he wasn’t.


Eventually, however, I had to move; my lease was up, the landlord had not realized that I’d wanted to renew, and he rented out the apartment to someone else. I was now in a different part of town, and while L actually got to my new place once, it was just too long a trip for him, and that was the only time after the move.

A number of years later, after having left that town completely, I was passing through. A friend was driving me somewhere which involved going through that city, and I prevailed upon him to make a little detour to let me see where I used to live. Some of the same boys were still playing in the street, and a couple said hello. But L at first seemed to act as if he didn’t know who I was. Only when it seemed that nobody was looking, he turned to me and gave me the nicest smile you could imagine. I thought that nobody saw this, but at least one of my friends from the car did — years later, we were talking about it. This friend was one I’d confided in about my boyloving, and when I was discussing that trip and told him that the boy I’d seen that day was the one I’d had a relationship with “back then,” my friend said he’d figured it out, and furthermore, while he didn’t normally approve of adult/child sex, the boy certainly didn’t seem to consider me a molester. Too bad others aren’t as easy to convince.

There is only one thing I regret about my relationship with L. On a number of occasions, he asked me if I loved him. I told him, “Guys don’t love other guys, but I like you a lot.” Obviously I’d bought into the prevailing heterosexual attitude. I wish I’d told him the truth. I think I really did love this boy.